


Damn it

by Tazmosis



Category: Fan fiction - Fandom, political satire - Fandom
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 21:11:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15348810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tazmosis/pseuds/Tazmosis
Summary: Coping with the world we live in.





	Damn it

"Damn it, why do I always have to deal with this?". Yet again, it happened. Sarah strode into her apartment, or at least where she went to let off steam before she actually tried to spend time with the people she loved. She threw her purse onto the couch with the  same sort of angry gusto a news paper boy uses when he throws the paper of a grouchy old man in the bushes. It was another bad day, not the sort of bad when the salad bar runs out of croutons bad, the sort of bad where the salad bar has poisonous frogs and scorpions on the menu bad. Sarah was tired of scorpions 4 days a week; on a good week.

It had started as a good day, she'd gotten up with high hopes and happy thoughts. "Today will be the good day", she beamed. She got to work and found that there were a few of the good bagels left in the kitchen and there was a generous helping of the cream cheese she liked, seemingly waiting to move her day in the right direction. After that, it all went sideways; it almost always went sideways, almost 5 days per week. By 10 AM the damage control team was, yet again, trying to mitigate the damage done. Sometimes from today, sometimes last night; stupid twitter.

"Just one week. One full week is all I'm hoping for". This week was not that week.

So on a Tuesday, that was like a lot of the other Tuesdays in recent history, Sarah went through her normal Tuesday ritual. She walked into her 'stunt' apartment. This was the place that she and her husband agreed that she should go after work to make sure that she didn't go straight home and explode on the kids, or him, or pets, or plants, or things that she cared about. This was her decompression place. So, as is the Tuesday ritual, she kicked off her shoes, she picked up a pillow and slammed her face into it and commenced to her usual screaming.

She didn't always curse, but she always screamed. The neighbors had spoken up in the first few days of her 'residency'. It seems that they understood the frustration, but didn't care for the curses and didn't seem to want to learn what they meant. They were evangelical, they were good people.

Sarah screamed into her expensive Pier 1 Imports pillow for more than a few minutes. She was never really sure how long though, she got sort of dizzy after that much rage release. It was therapeutic, but exhausting, perhaps that was the idea... in the beginning. In the beginning, she'd come by this place and spend a few minutes. She'd feed the fish and maybe water the plants, but that slowly evolved. Slowly evolved, for the standard house fly with a life span of 2 days. Soon she's having a drink, when she got there. Then another.  Not long after that, the fish died. She tried to get a companion for her 'Pressure pad', but that hadn't worked out as she hoped. The fish was a nice try, but she'd flown into a rage over, yet another, work proclamation she had to discuss; Monty the clown-fish died in a puddle amongst the remains for a smashed tank. The cat, who was a rescue, had to be taken away, largely due to repeated attempts of 'punting Mr. Whiskers'. Now she was only allowed stuffed animals and was on an SPCA watch list. Now she was on her own.

After the opening salvo of muffled screaming, and a few minutes of catching her breath, Sarah did what she normally did. She grabbed that cursed cell phone, adding another item to her shopping list, it was the same item as always and then she proceeded to the kitchen cabinets. She opened the only cabinet she ever used, it contained a generous amount of smashable glassware and several bottles of Wild Turkey Kentucky bourbon. She grabbed one of those glasses and rifled is across the room with the anger of an angry high school baseball pitcher. SMASH! there went another picture, and another piece of the security deposit. "I always hated that picture anyways, stupid clowns.", she mumbled as she turns up a bottle of bourbon and proceeded to gulp down about one half of its contents. Then she settled into a glass covered couch.

2 hours later, it was dark again. She shook off the bourbon fuzz and headed out where her other evening ritual awaited. As she walked into her usual corner saloon, the bartender didn't say anything, he just pointed to a table in a dark corner. She sat down with the man there, looked him in the eye and didn't say a word, he was a stocky fellow with receding dirty blond hair, pale skin and a haunted look in his eyes. She picked up her glass and matched him drink for drink until that bottle, the following bottle, and the following bottle were gone.

The following morning she awoke as usual, in her own bed, next to her husband and proceeded to greet her family. She sent her children off to school with hugs, kisses and mom made lunches. She sent her husband off to work with a kiss and a promise that things would get better for them. Then she headed off to work herself.

She arrived once again, to find the right sort of bagel and perfectly softened cream cheese. She sipped a cup of coffee, enjoyed her bagel and then steeled herself for what was to come. She squared her shoulders, strode down the hall and opened her bosses office door.

"Good Morning, Mr. President. We need to discuss how you'd like to address the media today".


End file.
